Voices
by subhumanity
Summary: Sometimes, Mello saw things that weren't really there. Drabble? self prompt 'insanity,' based on something someone said to me once. T to be safe. Matt/Mello one-shot, guy love if you want it to be.


Sometimes, Mello saw things that weren't really there.

Early on, he made the decision never to tell anyone about it. How could a psychopath ever succeed the great L? So he kept them secret.

Mello would see spiders and demons of shadows, and lies in the eyes of his peers; it was like a constant child's nightmare, but he was fully aware that he was awake. It followed him wherever he went. But the secret had to be kept, so he let these illusions consume his life and ruin every relationship with anyone that he ever tried to have.

It wasn't so bad, really. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Sometimes, Mello heard things, too.

He heard voices, usually. But he wasn't crazy. These voices were very smart – brilliant, actually, smarter than Mello. If he was crazy, surely the voices would be telling him to do crazy things (and killing Near was just a product of his own hatred), right? The voices told him when someone was lying, and the answers to impossible questions on tests, which allowed him to achieve and hold his place as second successor to L, right behind Near. They were _helping_ him.

He didn't need people. Really. Of course not.

His voices were always talking. Only once in his life were they ever silent (quiet sometimes, but never silent), and even that hadn't lasted long. He guessed that they were surprised when Kira beat L, too.

So, for the first 15 years of his life, the voices and illusions didn't bother Mello in the least. His inability to trust people ultimately worked to his advantage.

Then along came Matt.

He'd been there all along, of course. He was just another "friend" for Mello to use, and being Matt's best friend was just another facade that Mello had to keep up. It was the voices that reminded him not to get too close.

That is, until he'd packed up his things to bid Wammy's a not-so-fond farewell and Matt had caught the sleeve of his shirt, refusing to be left behind.

The voices, naturally, voiced their protests and told Mello that such a thing would be unacceptable. Matt was a liar, Matt would betray him, Matt would _hurt_ him, they said. And, really, until Matt was climbing behind him on the back of their first freshly-stolen motorcycle, Mello thought they might be right.

They screamed in frustration when he didn't leave Matt behind like a lost puppy on the sidewalk when he had the opportunity. He'd patiently waited while Matt gathered his things, even though he didn't fully understand why, and forced himself to deal with the illusions they punished him with.

That was when, for the first time, Mello realized that he wanted someone to trust. ...No, that wasn't it. He wanted to trust _Matt_. Just because the voices saw lies and hatred in his eyes didn't mean that it was actually there. So he tried. He tried for years. But disobeying your own brain is something like telling yourself not to breathe – it gets harder and harder until your body acts of its own will and you're sucking in greedy lungfuls of air, breathing deeper than you ever have in your life. Mello was just about two steps away from fresh oxygen.

He wanted the voices gone. He knew now that they were liars. But they were also _him._

When he realized that the voices and the illusions were just as much a part of his brain as the genius, he got depressed. Well, depressed would be the wrong word. He did no moping or crying, and only once did he try to drown the craziness out with alcohol. He was just _different._ And Matt noticed right away.

Mello could never pinpoint exactly when it happened, but at some point after his near liver-massacre, the voices changed and the visions grew kinder.

Now, sometimes, Mello would see Matt steal concerned glances in his direction, or see something in the redhead's eyes that was soft and warm – something that he (and the voices) couldn't name.

Sometimes, Mello would hear Matt's voice whispering things when he was sleeping. Things that, when processed with a fully-conscious mind, would definitely complicate things beyond the point of no return.

And, sometimes, Mello would feel gentle fingers – the same, soft, gentle fingers that had caught his sleeve once upon a time – touching his hair, his face, his skin, and even though he'd never had the problem of feeling things before, he knew that it was just evidence of his ever-progressing insanity.

But, one day, Mello woke up and the voices were gone. For absolutely no reason at all, they had just disappeared. Matt and his glances and whispers and touches (and cigarettes and games and crude jokes and smiles) were still there. That day, Mello smiled and gave someone his full and complete trust, ready to have a normal friendship with a relatively normal person. His head was silent, and he was happy.

But Matt and Mello died that day.

* * *

**A/N:** Um... . Yeah. Written during a three hour period that I was not allowed home. Not my best work, so I don't know why I'm publishing it... xD and if the ending seems a little crappy, it's because I realized that it was almost time for me to go, so I wrapped things up. The beginning's not good either... oh well.

... but reviews make me squeal like a happy panda and do the Lucky Star dance.


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